


Snowfall in Boston

by masongirl



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Affection, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleepy Cuddles, Snow, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27383674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masongirl/pseuds/masongirl
Summary: Ron refuses to acknowledge that he's not okay, but Carwood knows how to help him anyway.
Relationships: Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	Snowfall in Boston

Boston's nights are beautiful in snowfall. As the thick flakes swirl around the trees and settle on their branches like a solemn white coat, the streets go quiet and the lights switch on in the windows. The shops are already adorned with Christmas decorations and the scent of spices and roasted chestnut wafts through the air. It’s picturesque. 

And Ron can’t bear to look at it.

He doesn't understand himself. He was fine, perfectly fine when he was  _ there, _ but now that he's back and Carwood has given him the answer he's been hoping for, his happiness is tainted by the trickle of unwanted memories. Is this a sign of mental strain? His stomach feels queasy. He should make the most of Carwood’s visit, but Bastogne aches in his bones like a chill he cannot shake off, and he's afraid he would embarrass himself if he let Carwood know.

This is why he chose to sequester himself away in his bedroom for a few hours. Just until this strange feeling passes. He sits at his desk and writes - reports, letters, meaningless Christmas cards. Anything to keep his hands occupied, because they’re twitching for a gun he doesn’t carry anymore. Distantly, his mind notes when Carwood walks in, but he's lost in thought. It doesn't fully register that he isn't alone until a pair of hands land on his shoulders.

"Come to bed." Carwood says, a smile in his voice. Ron can feel the warmth of his body behind his back.

"I have to finish this letter."

"You can do that tomorrow." Carwood tells him gently and tucks Ron's fringe out of his eyes. The touch feels nice, but it fails to pull Ron’s attention away from the mechanical sound of his pen on the paper. Like bare nails scrambling at frozen ground.

"Ron, please." Carwood sighs. His big, warm hand cups Ron's forehead as if to take his temperature, but Ron doesn't react. He must look unwell, he supposes.  _ “Ron.” _

"Go ahead." Ron mutters.

There's a pause, then Carwood’s voice, formal and even. "You should get some rest, sir."

Ron freezes. An unpleasant shiver of déja-vu scrapes the back of his neck. For a second, he sees a shallow foxhole and a broken pine in his carpet's place. "Don't call me that."

Carwood leans down to rest his head on Ron’s and hugs him. "You don't listen to anything else."

Ron purses his lips. "I'm distracted."

Carwood hums. His fingers slide between Ron’s without resistance when Ron reaches for them. “And restless.”

“That’s right.”

Carwood’s lips press to his temple, then his cheek, and they leave Ron’s skin with a soft, intimate sound each time. “Me too. I could use your company.”

At that, Ron’s heart falters. Does the snow bother Carwood too? He’d hate that thought. He twists in his seat to glance up and sees understanding in Carwood’s eyes. He probably knows what has Ron so out of sorts tonight. It's the silliest thing though. Why does he feel panic locked behind his throat _now,_ safe in his home, when he made it through the war without ever experiencing it? This is too stupid to discuss, but if Carwood feels it too, Ron has to make it better. 

“All right." He stands and gives Carwood a kiss, rubbing his arms. "Let's go to bed then.”

  
  


They lie down on their sides, on top of Ron's pristine blue sheets. It's a relief that they aren't white and they warm up instantly, unlike icy soil. Carwood takes Ron's blanket away and drapes it on his own, then tugs at Ron until he scoots close enough to fit under the same covers. When they're finally pressed up against each other, sharing the heat, Carwood sighs and slides a hand through Ron's hair. He combs it away from Ron's face with his fingers, strokes it behind Ron's ear and musses up the curls where it has grown too long. It's a strange, but pleasant sensation that leaves Ron confused.

"What are you doing?" He mumbles. 

"Nothing. I just like your hair." Carwood smiles and turns on his back, pulling Ron along into an embrace. 

Although this side of the position is unfamiliar, Ron squirms to find a good place for his head and ends up resting it on Carwood's chest. The calm  _ thump-thump-thump _ of Carwood's heart draws all his attention away, and the snow, the cold and the tension in his muscles fade right out of his thoughts. All that's left is Carwood's hand in his hair and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He's a comfortable pillow. It's not a sign of weakness that Ron can't keep his eyes open anymore, held like this.

“Sweetheart.” Carwood whispers when it becomes obvious that despite all his efforts to find the strength, Ron can't roll away. "Are you feeling better now?"

Ron doesn't answer - he's already fast asleep.

_ ~End~ _


End file.
